


The Consolation Prize

by GwendolynGrace



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Conversations, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Vignette, kinda cracky?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5306663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly, I can't say it better than this <a href="http://monsiuerlafayette.tumblr.com/post/133807220802/favorite-fact-from-the-chernow-biography-so-far">Tumblr post</a>:</p><blockquote>
  <p>When the Reynolds Pamphlet was published, Washington sent Eliza a silver wine cooler as a gesture of solidarity<br/>Like that’s what he thought the appropriate “I’m sorry your husband cheated on you super hardcore, I’m with you” gift was....</p>
</blockquote>This is a little bit of fluff / crack inspired by that gift. Although I have to admit, I didn't actually come across the above post until I had already written this scene, the Tumblr sums up my thoughts exactly! Here's (sort of) how I imagine the conversation with Martha might have gone down.
            </blockquote>





	The Consolation Prize

**Author's Note:**

> My Geo. Washington here is very much modeled after LMM's interpretation of him in the musical....

**Mount Vernon, 1797**

 

"Aw, man! I don't believe it," Washington shouts. He thumbs through the Reynolds pamphlet again. "I don't fucking be _lieve_ it. I leave the man alone for what--five minutes?"

"What's that, dear?" Martha asks as she enters. She sits beside him at the table and pours their tea.

"Hamilton."

"Oh, good grief. What now?"

George explains, briefly, then hands her the leaflet.

"He sent you a copy?" she asks, incredulous. She sets it aside; it's enough for her to hear his précis.

"No, no--I'm certain he didn't."

"Well, then, how--"

"Special messenger," he answers. "With a note: 'Thought you ought to see this. - A friend.' Some friend!" He continues to mutter as he accepts a plate from his wife and stirs his tea. "I'll lay odds on Monroe. Or Adams. _Maybe_ Burr. Or Madison. Or possibly Tom…." He looks up at Martha, who is holding her teacup with a surprising amount of menace and staring at him over it. "What?" he asks with a shrug.

She quirks an eyebrow.

"I'm just saying, the man has enemies. Not necessarily unfoundedly," he adds with haste. He takes a sip of tea, ignoring her little "Hmph" of disapproval. Then he pounds the table. "Jesus _fuck_. Sorry," he tells her immediately. "It's just….I _told_ him. I ff--uhhh--reakin' well told him to stay out of trouble. To keep his damned mouth shut. And now…."

"I'd say his _mouth_ wasn't all he needed to keep shut," Martha observes sardonically. "Poor Elizabeth--she must be beside herself."

"Yes," George says, aware that this is one of those moments when the only possible course is to agree with his wife. 

Even that water seems fraught with rocky shoals, however: Martha's not impressed. "I'm serious!" she snaps. "You may try my patience, George, but I thank God every day I'm not married to a philanderer."

"Oh, now, Martha, one affair in ten years hardly makes him a philand--er, I mean, he always did have an eye for the ladies," he corrects himself midstream. "Remember back in Morristown?"

Martha smiles but is not yet ready to let him--or Alexander--off the hook.

"Then again," he continues, "even one affair is too many for a man if he respects his wife."

"Nice save, George," Martha says, her mouth twisting wryly as she pops a sugar cube into it, then sips the tea around the dissolving crystals.

He realizes she's expecting even more. "We should...send her something," he suggests. "Them. Something."

"Send something?"

"To let them know…. Well, you know."

Martha holds his gaze a moment before acknowledging that she can, in fact, still read his mind. "To let them know that we're thinking of them and support them both?"

"Er...yeah. That. I guess." He feels his way to make sure she is on board with this plan.

"And exactly what _do_ you give a couple whose shambles of a marriage is currently the talk of an entire nation?"

George swallows. "I dunno…. You're clever about these things. You figure it out."

Martha sighs. "It's not actually a terrible thought. Though I still think Elizabeth deserves more sympathy here than your precious Hamilton."

"Well, sure. If you want to…." he trails off at her sharp glance. "Right. Alexander's clearly a cad."

"No, I didn't say that. Well, okay. Yes. A bit. Still, you're rather sweet to want to console them."

"So, what says, 'We still love you and we hope you make it through this difficult phase of your marriage? And Alex, stop being a d-bag?'"

The corners of Martha's mouth quick upward but she schools her smile. "I have no idea."

George thinks. "Something boozy," he suggests.

Martha looks at him again, this time with mixed disappointment and confusion. "You think alcohol is the solution here?"

"Well...no. But, uh...something to help them deal, right? And besides--" inspiration strikes-- "a chilled bottle of wine never hurts a marriage on the skids, does it?"

"George. I love you, dear, but sometimes you can really be terribly naïve."

"Right you are, Martha," he agrees cheerfully, scooping up a scone with clotted cream.

"I'll see what we have in the silver," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Okay," he says with relief.

It takes him fully half an hour to realize she let him think he won.


End file.
